


made out of music and machine

by slightlied



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, La La Land AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlied/pseuds/slightlied
Summary: “It’s pretty strange that we keep running into each other,” Victor says lightly.Yuuri smiles. “Maybe it means something.”“I doubt it.”“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”





	made out of music and machine

**Author's Note:**

> part of the justine transfers her tumblr writing to ao3 dump
> 
> anonymous asked: will you please write a La La land AU

“I was thinking I have some original songs I’d like to play,” Victor suggests. He knows he’s pushing it. He’s just had to move into a smaller apartment so he  _shouldn’t_  push it.  

Yakov fixes him with a look. “The list, Victor. Stick to the set list.” 

Victor is already nodding. “Yes, okay, but what if I do the set list  _and_ the original—”

“Victor.” 

“Okay, I’ll stick to the set list.” 

He does not stick to the set list. Victor Nikiforov does not  _stick to lists._  Victor does not find himself confined in boxes. He obliterates any parameters that are imposed on him, just like jazz—yeah, like jazz, Victor thinks. He loves jazz so fucking much.

 

***

 

(“You’re fired, Victor,” Yakov says wearily. His voice is loud all of a sudden, over the faint hum of dinner conversation at the restaurant.  

Victor squawks indignantly. “But it’s Christmas.” 

“Yeah, I see the decorations. Good luck in the new year.”

Strangely, Victor feels lighter.)

 

***

 

“No, Jamal.  _You_  be trippin’.” 

There are times, in life, when Yuuri questions the decisions he’s made. Standing in front of the sixth auditions table he’s seen that day, with the eighteenth script he’s held in his hands that week (and it’s  _Wednesday_ ), wearing a schoolteacher’s outfit… is one of those times. 

Perhaps he’s crazy to be chasing this dream. Perhaps he should go back to school, get a business major like he was supposed to. Perhaps this is all useless, and Minako-sensei was wrong, and why would Hollywood want Yuuri anyway,  _Yuuri_  doesn’t even want Yuuri, and—

“Get dressed,” Phichit says that night, throwing a suit at his face. “We’re going out.” 

Yuuri pulls the shirt off of his head with a frown. “I think I’ll stay home.”

“Guang-hong shaved, there’s a party, and we’ve all had a shit day auditioning in front of faceless, Jamba Juice-drinking people.” Phichit grimaces. He does not understand why Los Angeles doesn’t drink coffee like the rest of the world. He is convinced that ‘revitalizing superfruits’ are a fake thing. “ _We’re going out._ ” 

“…Fine.”

 

***

 

This is the worst gig that Victor has ever taken on, dressed in leather everything and playing a  _keytar_ , of all things. 

 _Or it’s the_ best _gig you’ve ever taken on_ , corrects a voice in his head. Victor watches as the man at the center of the dance floor throws back another flute of champagne, loosens his tie and begins to dance. You can tango to anything, it seems—even to “I Ran,” and even when the tango is a two-person dance and you’re a one-man hurricane. 

Which this person is. A one-man hurricane. 

Victor’s fingers slam through the next chord progressions. 

 

***

 

“So you’re an actor.”

“Trying to be an actor,” Yuuri corrects. He hesitates. “I’m probably not good enough.” 

Victor considers this. “You could just write your own rules, you know. Write something as interesting as you are.”  

Yuuri blushes. He’s different like this, Victor thinks, out in broad daylight. Sober. Not stripping. 

It’s a shame. But—

“It’s pretty strange that we keep running into each other,” Victor says lightly. 

Yuuri smiles. “Maybe it means something.” 

“I doubt it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” 

 

***

 

Being with Yuuri is so easy. It’s introducing him to and falling in love with jazz all over again. It’s late nights on the piano writing music he actually likes listening to. It’s late nights—talking, laughing, dancing, kissing. Living. 

 _That’s it._  Being with Yuuri is  _living_ , like Victor’s always wanted to live. Freely, fully, fearlessly. 

Being with Victor is so easy. It’s being unapologetic about anything, especially about the things that you love. It’s letting your passion fuel you, it’s calling things “plans” instead of “dreams,” it’s leaping without looking, it’s knowing the good things you have when you’ve got them. 

So the only question Yuuri wants to ask him is: “Why? Why do you want me to leave?” 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Victor says, pained. “I want you to be happy.”

Because being with each other is easy until it’s not. Because, see, Hollywood is really good at selling the pretty picture, the package.  _Life and love—all yours today! For the small price of…_

“You have to go,” Victor says gently. “It’s your big break. It’s what you want.” 

“What I want…” Yuuri stops. Wipes his eyes raggedly with the back of his hand. “Vitya,” he chokes out brokenly.

For a split second, Victor thinks he’ll stay behind. Paris vanishes, that fancy director Celestino and his film, tailor-made for Yuuri, vanishes. And what’s left is the life they could have: Victor opening his jazz club with Leo and Chris, Yuuri finding his own break here in LA. But it’s foolish, Victor has always been foolish, and he’s not going to let Yuuri break what he’s been helping him steadily build for the past ten months. His stage presence, his confidence and charisma. Victor’s foolish but he’s not actually a fool. 

“I’m always gonna love you.”

“I’m always gonna love you, too.” 


End file.
